THE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,   SAN   DIEGO 

U\  JOLLA,  CALIFORNIA 


THE  GATES  OFTHE 

CARIBBEAN 

by  William Mc  Fee 


GREAT  WHITE  FLEET 


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LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF 
CALIFORNIA 

SAN  DIEGO 


Clre 


th<e 


o/  ex. 


WilliamMcFee 


UN  i  T  E  D  FRUIT  COMPANY 

STEAMSHIP  SERVICE 


ATLANTIC 
OCEAN 


ngston 

CARIBBEAN  SEA 


Route  of  Special  Costa  Rican  Cruises 


The  Gates  of  the  Caribbean 

By  WILLIAM  McFEE 

T  is  one  of  the  compensations  of  modern  life  that  a  voyage  is 
no  longer,  as  the  ironic  French  peasant  was  accustomed 
to  describe  it,  "a  little  death."  So  far  indeed  have  we  come 
from  the  times  when  a  traveler  was  looked  upon  as  a  creature 
of  mysterious  mental  moods,  strangely  afflicted  with  a  desire 
to  go  somewhere,  that  the  possession  of  a  wardrobe  trunk  is  now  of  no 
more  significance  than  a  camera  or  a  bag  of  golf  clubs.  It  is  indeed  the 
thing  to  do,  not  so  much  from  the  selfish  motive  of  improving  one's 
mind,  as  for  the  finer  fancy  of  seeing  what  the  world  is  like  and,  speaking 
internationally,  calling  on  the  neighbors. 

But  going  south,  heading  for  one  of  the  Gates  of  that  alluring  congeries 
of  romance  and  modernity  we  call  the  Caribbean,  our  emotions  have  certain 
special  qualities  apart  from  those  engendered  by  any  ordinary  trip  abroad. 
Without  entering  into  a  lengthy  disquisition  as  to  the  merits  of  our  educa- 
tional system,  it  must  be  conceded  that  when  we  speak  of  foreign  parts 
we  think  readily  of  Europe,  just  as  the  Englishman,  when  America  is  men- 
tioned, thinks  at  once  of  the  United  States.  And  so  when  we  start  south- 
ward, embarked  at  length  upon  our  expedition  to  what  we  may  conveniently 
call  Latin-America,  we  have,  quite  possibly,  a  new  curiosity,  a  vague  notion 
of  doing  something  romantic,  and  behind  that,  a  few  fantastic  illusions  as 
to  where  we  are  going  and  what  we  are  about  to  see. 

And  it  is  to  be  noted  at  the  outset  that  the  enterprise  is  carried  out 
under  the  more  or  less  normal  conditions  of  a  comfortable  human  existence. 
It  may  conduce  to  the  happiness  of  some  to  become  microscopic  units  in 
a  vessel  so  enormous  that  one  may  cross  the  ocean  in  it  without  ever  seeing 
it,  or  spend  many  hours  losing  one's  way  in  its  interminable  corridors.  On 
the  other  hand,  it  is  in  accordance  with  average  temperaments  to  find  this 
vessel  of  ours,  just  and  gracile  in  her  modelling,  spacious  and  modestly 
beautiful  in  her  garnitures,  an  adequate  substitute  for  the  houses  and 
country  clubs  we  have  left  amid  the  wintery  landscape  at  home. 

That  same  wintery  landscape,  however,  will  be  already  receding  by  the 
time  we  have  adjusted  our  personalities  to  the  novel  environment  of 
shipboard  life.  It  is  a  favorite  recreation  of  witty  folk  to  make  disparaging 
remarks  concerning  the  habits  of  those  who  travel  by  sea.  Doctor  Johnson 
set  the  melancholy  fashion  when  he  remarked  dryly  that  being  on  a  ship 


was  like  being  in  jail,  with  the  added 
risk  of  getting  drowned.  It  is  true 
that  there  are  certain  practical  natures 
so  addicted  to  dry  land  that  they  will 
admit  no  other  reason  for  sailing  on  the 
ocean  than  their  desire  to  reach  some 
otherwise  inaccessible  destination.  But 
for  those  who  have  what  Walter 
Baghote  called  "an  enjoying  nature," 
who  can  from  the  safe  seclusion  of  a 
deck-chair  regard  with  philosophical 
benignity  the  strenuous  pastimes  of 
youth,  the  four  days  between  New  York 
and  Havana  will  pass  all  too  quickly.  By  the  time  the  mountains  of  Cuba 
emerge  from  the  horizon,  there  will  have  come  upon  the  ship's  company  a 
sense  of  solidarity  born  of  the  explicit  object  to  which  they  have  dedicated 
the  coming  days. 

And  a  dedication  it  is,  as  they  can  testify  who  have  seen  rising  out 
of  the  sea,  the  delicate  outline  and  coloring  of  "San  Cristobal  de  la  Habana." 
"Like  Valletta!"  you  hear  some  one  say,  who  has  been  to  the  Mediter- 
ranean. And  that  is  true.  Though  in  Valletta  you  have  to  go  a  long  way 
round  for  your  Malecon,  and  the  rocks  beneath  St.  Angelo  have  not  the 
sinister  blackness  behind  the  white  surf  that  swirls  and  growls  below  the 
long  scarred  battlements  of  the  Morro. 

Here,  as  the  ship  moves  serenely  between  the  twin  headlands  which 
form  the  huge  harbor,  you  encounter  abruptly  that  alien  and  romantic 
atmosphere  you  have  set  forth  to  seek.  For  Havana  has  retained,  in  some 
magical  and  secret  fashion  of  her  own,  and  in  spite  of  her  indubitable 
advance  in  what  we  cheerfully  describe  as  civilization,  a  great  portion  of 
the  extraordinary  glamour  which  lured  within  her  walls  the  wealth,  the 
beauty  and  the  enterprise  of  the  Indies  in  her  days  of  greatness.  And  it 
holds  an  essential  quality,  this  glamour,  which  makes  it  distinct  from  that 
of  the  Mediterranean  or  the  Orient.  It  is  Latin,  and  it  is  shot  with  gleams 
of  tropical  splendor:  it  is  rendered  sombre  at  times  with  memories  of  the 
dark  deeds  of  conquist adores  and  the  incredible  exploits  of  the  Brethren 
of  the  Coast. 

But  if  these  are  to  be  found  among  our  impressions  as  we  look  back, 
they  will  be  in  abeyance  as  we  step  ashore  into  the  maelstrom  of  modern 
Havana  city  life,  a  maelstrom  of  brilliant  sunshine  and  swiftly  moving 
vehicles.  There  are  no  taxis  as  understood  in  northern  lands,  their  work 
being  done  by  innumerable  Fords,  more  adapted  to  the  narrow  streets  of 
a  Spanish  city.  They  are  Fords  of  unbelievable  sumptuousness,  however, 
with  elaborate  upholstery  and  a  system  of  colored  plates  which  identify 
them  to  the  initiated.  And  while  it  would  not  do  to  accuse  their  drivers 
of  attempting  suicide  as  they  shoot  with  startling  velocity  athwart  abrupt 
cross  streets,  they  recall  the  story  of  the  indignant  American  in  Paris  who 


asked  his  driver  "if  they 
had  no  speed  limit  in  that 
city. ' '  And  he  was  assured 
that  they  had,  but  no  one 
had  ever  reached  it. 

The  compensation  for 
these  narrow  thoroughfares 
comes  with  satisfying  com- 
pleteness when  you  arrive 
by  devious  ways,  past 
ancient  court  yards  and 
arcaded  sidewalks,  upon 
the  center  of  this  "Paris  of 
the  West  Indies."  A  dozen 
streets  radiate  from  it  and 
you  take  naturally  enough 

The  Prado,  an  immense  double  boulevard  with  a  central  pathway  for  pedes- 
trians set  between  grass  plots  and  trees,  which  will  cany  you  clear  out  upon 
the  sea  wall  of  the  Malecon.  It  is  not  suggested  that  motor  cars  should 
be  avoided.  Indeed  they  are  to  be  commended  as  a  swift  and  economical 
means  of  transit  to  many  points  of  interest.  The  point  emphasized  here 
is  that  we,  remaining  but  three  days,  and  having  taken  our  fill  of  the  con- 
ventional sights,  if  we  are  to  catch  the  magic  of  the  town  so  that  we  may 
cany  it  with  us,  must  take  our  way  on  foot  as  the  sun  sinks  below 
the  horizon. 

As  the  dusk  falls  like  a  mantle  of  misty  azure  over  the  harbor  and  the 
lights  spangle  the  distant  shores,  you  pass  the  cavernous  darkness  of  an 
ancient  gateway,  and  pause  in  the  shadow  of  the  quaint  belfry  of  a  ruined 
church.  And  you  become  aware,  under  the  roar  of  the  modern  metropolis, 
of  a  subtle  murmur,  faint  and  clear,  reminding  you  of  old  days  when  tall 
galleons  rode  at  anchor  in  the  harbor  and  mailed  heels  rang  on  the  pave- 
ments of  the  stately  mansions  among  the  palms. 

Of  today  there  is  nothing  so  bizarre  to  a  northern  sportsman  as  the 
game  which  is  played  in  the  great  public  courts  of  the  city  under  the  name 
of  /a/  Alai.  To  us  who  have  seen  it  in  the  old  world  it  is  the  Basque  game 
of  Pelote,  the  protagonists  wearing  on  their  right  wrists  a  curious  con- 
traption of  woven  wicker,  like  a  scoop,  with  which  the  ball  is  hurled  with 
tremendous  force  against  the  further  wall  of  the  court.  And  great  is  the 
excitement  when  the  players  run  neck  and  neck  and  the  man  you  have 
backed  wins  and  you  discover,  to  your  astonishment,  that  your  two  dollar 
ticket  is  redeemable  for  a  respectable  sum  which  you  promptly  reinvest 
on  the  favorite,  and  lose,  in  a  highly  sportsmanlike  manner.  Yet  your 
ultimate  gain  is  to  be  recorded  if  measured  in  the  wealth  of  new  and  fan- 
tastic impressions — the  lights,  hung  high  over  the  great  rectangles  of  the 
courts,  the  fans  and  perfumes  of  the  ladies,  the  amazing  dignity  and  im- 
portance of  the  small  boy  who  deals  out  fresh  balls,  the  manoeuvers  of  the 
ticket  speculators  who  haunt  the  outer  vestibules,  and  the  harsh  brazen 
voices  of  the  bookmakers  as  they  rouse  the  excitement  to  fever  heat  with 
new  and  unheard  of  odds. 


And  so,  all  too  soon,  we  are  out  upon  the  sea  again,  Cuba  a  long  blue 
hummock  on  the  horizon  as  we  head  for  the  Yucatan  Channel.  It  is  here 
that  we  enter  the  actual  waters  of  the  Caribbean. 

A  glance  at  the  map  shows  the  West  Indian  system  to  be  outside, 
rather  than  within  the  Caribbean.  Eastward  from  Cuba,  with  Haiti  and 
Porto  Rico  forming  the  main  line  of  the  northerly  breakwater,  there  runs 
an  ever  diminishing  chain  of  islands  that  curve  to  the  southward  as  the 
Windward  Group  and  couple  to  the  continent  of  South  America  at  Trinidad. 
Within  these  boundaries  lies  a  sea  with  a  history,  a  climate  and  a  civilization 
all  its  own.  From  the  submerged  city  of  old  Port  Royal  to  the  delta  of 
the  Magdalena,  from  Bridgetown  in  Barbadoes  to  Belize  in  British  Hon- 
duras, the  Caribbean  Sea  was  the  stage  on  which  were  enacted  the  peculiar 
exploits  of  the  gentlemen  who  alluded  to  themselves,  very  modestly,  as 
the  Brethren  of  the  Coast.  However,  a  careful  examination  of  this  part 
of  the  world  proves  that  they  are  now  extinct. 


The  business  of  piracy  was  never  handed  down  from  father  to  son, 
nor  did  many  of  the  regular  practitioners  live  long  enough  to  enjoy  the 
fruits  of  their  industry.  A  reflection  that  must  inevitably  occur  to  us  today, 
while  reading  the  lives  of  the  pirates  and  buccaneers  of  the  American  Coast, 
is  that  if  these  men  had  used  the  same  energy,  ability  and  resource  in  honest 
merchandising,  they  would  have  all  died  millionaires;  instead  of  hanging 
at  somebody's  yardarm.  Nothing  is  more  extraordinary  in  the  history 
of  that  period  than  the  utter  blindness  of  all  these  desperadoes  to  the 
colossal  wealth  concealed  in  the  virgin  soil  beyond  their  dirty  and  disor- 
derly settlements. 

These  thoughts  will  be  inspired,  reasonably  enough,  by  our  arrival 
in  Jamaica.  By  this  time  the  intelligent  traveler — and  it  is  a  gratifying 
feature  of  a  West  Indian  tour  that  so  many  of  one's  fellow  travelers  are 
intelligent — has  become  sufficiently  familiar  with  a  maritime  existence  to 
take  much  of  it  for  granted.  He  will  have  dis- 
covered the  extraordinary  number  of  combina- 
tions rendered  possible  by  dropping  a  rubber 
ring  a  given  number  of  times  on  a  squared  board. 
He  will  have  reached  the  inevitable  conclusion 
about  deck  quoits :  that  nobody  ever  has  or  ever 
will  acquire  skill  enough  to  win  from  anybody 
else  (unless  he  take  a  voyage  round  the  world 
and  devote  every  moment  to  practice) .  He  will 
have  learned  the  true  inwardness  of  that  myster- 
ious sport,  deck-golf,  when  played  with  a  lady 
partner,  or  better  still  a  lady  opponent,  and  he 
will  have  found  that  the  ship's  pianos,  con- 
tradicting the  majority  of  travelers'  tales,  are  in 
tune.  All  this  is  very  broadening,  and  the 
approach  to  Jamaica  is  welcomed  as  affording  an 
insight  into  the  workings  of  an  authentic  colony. 

Such  is  Jamaica,  a  compact,  orderly  and 
extraordinarily  fertile  island  that  looks  like  a 


blue  mountain  in  the  distance,  and 
remains  startlingly  blue  as  you 
approach  it,  so  that  when  you 
finally  land  you  are  not  surprised 
to  discover  that  the  main  back- 
bone of  it  is  called  Blue  Mountain 
with  Blue  Mountain  Peak  soaring 
into  the  clouds  between  you  and  the 
other  side  of  the  island. 

For  it  is  the  custom  here  to 
abandon  the  ship  for  a  day  or  two 
at  Port  Antonio,  and  while  she 
eventually  finds  her  way  round  by 
sea  to  Kingston,  we  go  to  Hotel 
Titchfield  and  later  take  the  road 
over  the  mountains. 

Here  at  once  is  apparent  a 
happy  distinction  which  Jamaica 
can  claim  over  many  adjacent  territories.  She  has  good  roads.  She  is  a  very 
old  established  country,  for  she  began  making  sugar  even  before  Havana  was 
founded,  and  you  will  see  as  your  car  drops  down  the  hill  presently,  the 
vestiges  of  old  stone  acqueducts  which  the  early  Spanish  planters  built 
to  irrigate  their  fields.  There  are  other  views,  too,  of  buildings  with  formid- 
able walls  raised  by  slaves  but  overgrown  now  by  the  all -conquering  foliage. 
And  perhaps  it  is  of  that  foliage  in  its  almost  incredible  abundance 
and  variety  that  you  will  carry  away  the  most  vivid  memories.  As  the 
clean,  well -graded  road  leaves  the  north  shore  and  you  begin  to  ascend  the 
Wag  Water  Valley,  the  vegetation  crowds  to  the  very  edges  and  strives 
to  arch  itself  overhead.  And  as  you  climb  and  the  road  skirts  the  precipi- 
tous rim  of  some  deep  green  gully,  you  can  look  down  and  behold  gardens 
on  end,  as  it  were,  vertical  vegetation;  and  you  marvel  by  what  eccentric 
devices  the  industrious  agriculturist  manages  to  achieve  his  miraculous 
tasks.  And  looking  more  intently  upon  the 
scene  as  it  unwinds  in  a  polychromatic  vista, 
you  observe  that  every  hummock  and  hill,  the 
very  sides  of  otherwise  inaccessible  gorges,  are 
scored  with  tiny  regular  terraces  on  which  at 
intervals  microscopic  humans  can  be  seen,  with- 
out any  apparent  means  of  support,  engaged 
upon  the  cultivation  of  coffee  and  cane  and 
bananas.  On  the  upper  reaches  of  the  moun- 
tains lie  great  forests  of  hardwood  trees,  while 
nearby,  and  wherever  they  can  find  room,  the 
green  plumes  of  the  bamboo,  like  enormous 
ostrich  feathers,  cover  the  slopes.  And  at 
intervals  there  towers  above  the  road  some 
enormous  ceiba  tree,  whose  trunk  is  like  a  forti- 
fication, so  strongly  is  it  set  into  the  earth,  and 
whose  branches  extend  like  great  cantilevers  to 
support  their  vast  extent  of  shade. 


HERE  will  come  at  intervals  ebony  trees  with  heavy  foliage 
amongst  which  the  fruit  shines  like  globes  of  luminous  amber. 
There  are  palms  of  bewildering  variety,  from  the  obliging 
"traveler's  palm"  which  bleeds  cold  water  when  stabbed,  to 
the  slender  cocoanut  tree,  likewise  a  dispenser  of  cool  liquids, 
and  the  royal  palm,  superb  in  his  tall  beauty,  a  single  lovely  column  crowned 
with  a  tuft  of  matchless  symmetry. 

Castleton  Gardens,  with  a  gorgeous  profusion  of  palms,  ferns  and 
blooms;  and  then,  as  the  road  twists  and  turns  in  one  hair-pin  bend 
after  another,  and  you  comment  upon  the  occasional  ironic  warnings 
to  "drive  carefully" — as  if  any  one  would  do  anything  else  if  he  wanted 
to  get  home  again — the  shoulder  of  Stoney  Hill  is  won  and  the  earth 
falls  away  from  the  road  in  a  grand  sweep.  In  the  distance  lies  the  blue 
Caribbean  once  more,  with  Kingston  Harbor  sleeping  in  the  sun  behind 
the  Palisadoes. 

Kingston,  the  metropolis  of  the  Island,  lies  on  the  northern  side  of  a 
great  harbor,  and  its  situation  in  the  wide  plain  at  the  foot  of  the  Blue 
Mountain  Range  raises  the  temperature  during  the  morning  hours.  In 
the  afternoon  a  breeze  blows  strongly  across  the  water.  The  stores  should 
not  be  missed,  especially  those  devoted  to  what  are  genetically  described 
as  curios.  It  is  here  you  can  gratify  the  universal  desire  to  get  something 
for  the  folks  back  home.  Here  you  can  purchase  articles  of  formidable 
utility  such  as  baskets  and  hats ;  or  other  things  of  no  utility  at  all  yet  which 
certainly  give  pleasure  to  the  untraveled.  Such  things  as,  for  example, 
a  vase  made  from  a  joint  in  a  giant  bamboo,  a  table  center  fashioned  from 
the  silky  fibres  of  a  native  plant,  and  sea  shells  of  gorgeous  tintings.  Fish, 
too,  of  grotesque  proportions,  safely  dried  and  varnished,  and  cocoanuts 
carved  into  amazing  shapes,  will  tempt  the  benevolent  citizen  as  he  goes 
shopping. 

And  it  may  be  our  fortune,  as  we  fare  further,  to  discover  a  shop 
where  have  come  down  from  many  a  manor  house  in  the  island,  some 
of  the  old  fashioned  furnishings  of  early  days.  Here,  among  pieces  of 
authentic  china,  you  will  see  those  substantial  Colonial  candle  sticks, 
with  heavy  bases  and  huge  glass  globes,  so  that  even  a  hurricane  could 


not  blow  them  out.  Here,  too,  you  may  come  upon  old  silver  and  glass 
and  curious  ornaments  of  coral  and  aquamarine  and  jet,  the  prized 
trinkets  of  by-gone  simple  hearts. 

•  Yet  of  all  the  memories  we  carry  from  Kingston  these  are  not  the 
chief.  Most  of  all  we  shall  remember  the  oasis  of  palms  behind  the  hotel, 
away  from  the  grind  of  the  trolley  car  and  the  dust  of  the  country  roads, 
where  the  breeze  blows  across  rippling  water  from  Port  Royal  and  the 
world  becomes  but  a  dim  adumbration  of  soft  lights  and  sounds  seen 
and  heard  amidst  tropical  foliage,  while  under  a  sky  crowded  with  un- 
suspected galaxies,  we  can  distinguish  the  movements  of  departing  mer- 
chantmen and  the  loom  of  white  yachts  at  anchor. 

So  far,  however,  we  have  seen  but  the  fringe  of  Latin-America. 
Both  Cuba  and  Jamaica  have  achieved  something  essentially  belonging 
to  themselves  alone;  something  we  can  call  racial  as  well  as  national, 
yet  which  derives  from  the  northern  races.  For  if  Cuba  has  emerged 
from  her  unhappy  Colonial  period  under  the  vigorous  tutelage  of  the 
United  States,  so  that  she  can  stand  alone,  Jamaica  bears  upon  the  face 
of  her  institutions  and  community  life  the  ineffaceable  imprint  of  the 
Mother  Country  beyond  the  sea. 

But  Latin- America  is  something  beyond  either  of  these,  and  it  will 
be  necessary  to  climb  up  out  of  sight  of  the  sea,  to  traverse  the  lowlands 
of  the  coast,  before  you  can  begin  to  sense  the  atmosphere  of  an  authentic 
foreign  civilization.  Because  modern  transportation  inevitably  brings 
along  with  it  the  genius  of  the  race  which  evolved  it  and  the  North  Amer- 
ican, with  his  ship  and  his  railroad  and  his  hotel,  tends  to  find  himself 
at  home  everywhere ;  whereas  the  main  lure  of  travel  is  to  get  away  from 
home  and  into  foreign  parts. 

Yet  the  experienced  traveler,  stepping  ashore  for  the  first  time  at  the 
northern  end  of  the  Panama  Canal  would  wonder  how  to  classify  the  impres- 
sions made  by  so  strange  a  medley  of  North  and  South  and  of  East  and 
West.  Here  is  no  clean-cut  racial  line,  but  rather  an  almost  unimaginable 
conglomeration  of  types.  It  is  as  though  a  tide  of  heterogeneous  humanity 


11 


had  surged  up  against  the  immense  white  concrete  walls  of  the  Canal 
Zone  and  had  been  flung  back  upon  itself  in  a  burst  of  chaotic  color  and 
movement  which  is  the  City  of  Colon.  Emerging  from  dock  buildings 
so  clean  and  so  vast  that  there  is  nothing  save  the  great  Baths  of  Cara- 
calla  to  compare  with  them,  the  timid  visitor  avoids  being  run  down  by 
a  joyous  negro  on  an  electric  baggage  truck,  and  steps  across  an  oasis 
of  tall  palms  among  which  can  be  seen  the  romantic  looking  offices  of 
steamship  lines — offices  which  bear  a  striking  outward  resemblance 
to  Oriental  palaces. 

Beyond  these  and  the  immediate  track  of  the  railroad,  one  abandons 
Efficiency  and  Sanitation  and  Ferro  Concrete,  and  comes  quite  suddenly 
upon  Life.  As  you  glance  along  this  exotic  Main  Street,  the  frame 
verandahed  stores  crowding  over  the  sidewalk  to  the  very  curb,  so  that 
you  are  always  sheltered  from  sudden  tropical  down-pours,  and  as  you 
watch  the  bizarre  manifestations  of  alien  activity  around  you,  it  is  diffi- 
cult to  avoid  comparing  it  with  the  jungle  itself.  And  the  impression 
grows  as  you  steer  gently  among  the  myriad  of  vendors  of  fruit  and 
candies  and  newspapers  and  lottery  tickets;  as  you  peer  into  cavernous 
stores  where  brilliant-eyed  Orientals  lie  in  wait  for  the  unwary;  and  catch 
sight  abruptly,  within  some  dark  court,  of  staircases,  climbing  into  in- 
tricate confusion  and  festooned  with  clothing  of  dazzling  colors,  like  the 
vines  and  foliage  of  the  Isthmian  forests.  And  you  observe  with  a  cer- 
tain amount  of  trepidation,  as  you  pursue  your  adventures,  that  the 
apparently  impregnable  front  of  these  lines  of  caravanserais  are  pierced 
by  narrow  and  mysterious  alleys,  as  though  the  dense  thickets  of  build- 
ings were  infested  by  rapacious  animals  who  have  beaten  out  these  per- 
ilous pathways  to  the  outside  world. 


12 


OWEVER,  this  may  be  only  the  fancy  of  the  timid  stranger 
as  he  wavers  along,  astounded  by  the  infinite  variety  of  the 
wares  he  is  implored  to  inspect.  Gentlemen  from  the  remot- 
est provinces  of  the  Orient  burst  forth  into  soft  eloquence  as 
he  passes.  He  discovers  silken  bath  robes  of  fabulous  designs 
and  tintings,  combs  of  ornately  carved  ivory,  trinkets  of  jade  and  shell 
and  lacquer-ware.  He  will  be  importuned  to  examine  astonishing  fabrics 
from  Egypt,  hats  from  Ecuador,  and  pongee  suitings  from  farthest  India. 
Dignified  persons  with  gleaming  eyes,  outlandish  head  dress  and  a 
remarkable  command  of  English,  will  spellbind  him  into  buying  articles 
of  fantastic  design  and  problematic  utility. 

In  and  out  among  the  pillars  which  support  the  arcades  darts  the 
eternal  small  boy  at  his  eternal  job  of  selling  papers,  while  at  every  cor- 
ner local  residents  regard  the  lottery  tickets  pinned  upon  boards  with 
profound  deliberation  before  taking  their  weekly  chance  at  wealth  be- 
yond the  dreams  of  avarice. 

Such  are  a  few  of  the  scenes  which  are  to  be  observed  by  the  tolerant 
and  leisured  voyager  as  he  wanders  about  one  of  the  most  cosmopolitan 
cities  in  the  world.  And  perhaps  one  of  the  most  fugitive  fancies  flitting 
through  his  mind,  as  he  pursues  his  way  across  the  Zone,  will  be  that  he  has 
come  into  a  country  of  gigantic  aviaries,  so  strongly  do  these  rectangular 
screened  dwellings,  set  amid  gorgeous  tropical  scenery,  resemble  bird  cages. 
Of  the  Canal  itself  it  is  imperative  to  say  that  the  tourist  will  be 
doing  himself  a  serious  disservice  if  he  fails  to  become  thoroughly  familiar 
with  Isthmian  history  before  he  arrives  at  Cristobal.  It  is  a  very  com- 
plex affair,  with  its  roots  in  the  almost  forgotten  past,  entangled  with 
a  deal  of  wickedness  and  folly  after  the  fashion  of  human  affairs  generally. 
But  if  the  voyager  begins,  on  the  southward  journey,  to  consult  the 
ship's  library  and  discover  for  himself  how  the  California  gold  rush  of 
1849  brought  into  existence  a  traffic  and  a  railroad  from  sea-to-sea,  and 
how  gentleman-adventurers  of  all  nations  scrambled  across  under  un- 
believable conditions,  he  will  probably  continue  to  read  until  the  story 
has  become  coherent  in  the  mind.  The  chief  difficulty  is  to  realize 
adequately  the  change  which  has  been  wrought  in  the  face  of  the  country 
inside  of  twenty  years. 


Yet  one  would  like  to  evoke,  if  only  for  a  moment,  the  scenes  that 
met  the  eyes  of  those  fresh-faced,  dauntless  young  men  from  New  Eng- 
land and  New  York  as  they  came  up  the  old  Chagres  River,  the  black 
boys  at  the  oars  singing  the  song  that  raged  across  the  world: 
"Oh  Susannah!  don't  you  cry  for  me! 

I'm  off  to  California  wid  my  banjo  on  my  knee." 
One  would  like  to  get  back  for  a  moment  the  extraordinary  emotion 
of  these  young  adventurers  as  they  sat  watching  the  walls  of  the  impen- 
etrable jungle  slide  by,  walls  of  palm  and  teak  and  ebony,  of  sycamore 
and  acacia  and  wild  banana,  looped  and  swathed  in  vines  of  inconceiv- 
able variety  with  blooms  that  terrified  by  their  unexpected  loveliness, 
until  their  canoes  halted  at  a  village  called  Gatun  where  their  descendants 
have  raised  a  mountain  and  created  a  lake.  A  strange  and  unforseen 
rendering  of  the  song  the  gold  seekers  hummed  to  keep  up  their  spirits 
as  they  pushed  on  into  the  darkness  of  the  jungle: 
"I'll  scrape  the  mountains  clean  old  girl, 

I'll  drain  the  river   dry, 

I'm  off  to  California 

Susannah  don't  you  cry!" 

We  have  indeed  scraped  the  mountains  clean  and  drained  the  rivers 
dry,  so  that  what  used  to  be  the  adventure  of  a  lifetime  is  now  no  more 
than  an  hour's  run  over  a  modern  roadbed.  The  story  of  the  bright 
young  visitor  who  caught  sight  of  the  big  P.  R.  R.  on  the  freight  cars 
and  who  remarked  wistfully  that  he  had  not  known  the  Pennsylvania 
System  extended  so  far  south  or  he  would  have  taken  it,  may  not  be 
entirely  authentic,  but  it  should  be  accepted  as  an  excellent  allegory. 

On  no  account  should  Old  Panama  be  missed.  There  is  not  much 
of  it  left,  not  only  because  it  never  was  a  large  place  but  because  it  seemed 
destined  to  pass  the  years  in  a  state  of  perpetual  destruction.  No  self 
respecting  pirate,  it  appears  from  the  histories,  could  think  of  going  home 
without  attacking  and  destroying  Panama.  With  some  of  the  more 
eminent  it  became  a  habit.  If  Havana  was  too  well  guarded,  if  Porto 
Bello  was  not  yet  suffi- 
ciently reconstructed  to 
be  again  demolished,  if 
Cartagena  proved  too 
precarious  a  gamble  for 
anything  less  than  an 
army,  then  the  pirate 
temporarily  out  of  a  job, 
would  instantly  propose 
an  attack  on  Panama. 
And  while  this  sort  of 
thing  makes  a  pictur- 
esque page  in  history  it  is 
not  to  be  expected  that 
Panama,  after  so  many 
assiduous  destructions, 
should  have  very  much 
left  to  show. 

15 


Baptista  Antonio, 
an  Italian  surveyor 
sent  in  1587  by  the 
Spanish  king  to  report 
upon  this  weakness  of 
Panama,  stated  three 
sundry  places  where  it 
might  without  diffi- 
culty be  taken  by  the 
pirates.  It  is  safe  to 
say  that  every  pirate 
who  came  along  suc- 
ceeded one  way  or 
another.  After  a  vaca- 
tion in  Port  Royal, 
the  invigorated  des- 
peradoes would  cross 
the  Caribbean  and 
start  up  the  Chagres 
River.  Doubtless  it  passed  through  the  minds  of  many  of  these  extra- 
ordinary beings,  as  they  fought  the  poisoned  arrows  of  the  Indians  and 
the  poisoned  stings  of  the  mosquitoes,  that  a  canal  would  have  been  a 
convenience,  but  they  were  all  in  too  great  a  hurry  to  clean  up  and  return 
to  their  homes.  The  tale  of  their  exploits  in  this  part  of  the  world  has 
been  amusingly  set  down  by  one  of  them,  Jan  Esquemeling,  a  Dutchman, 
the  only  literary  pirate  on  record  at  that  early  day,  which  was  long 
before  the  era  of  "pirated  editions,"  of  course.  Esquemeling  was  one  of 
those  deserted  by  Morgan  who,  after  all  the  hard  work  was  done,  sailed 
off  without  dividing  the  spoil.  The  theory  that  Morgan  suspected 
Esquemeling  of  literary  tendencies  and  abandoned  him  on  that  account 
is  not  borne  out  by  our  knowledge  of  Morgan's  character.  So  shrewd 
a  commander  would  have  found  some  use  for  a  ready  pen. 

As  we  return  to  the  ship  and  recall  the  fantastic  history  of  this  nar- 
row strip  of  volcanic  jungle  and  fever-haunted  swamp,  it  is  impossible 
to  avoid  a  feeling  that  the  men  who  faced  and  conquered  the  unspeak- 
able perils  of  the  transit,  whether  conquist adores  or  merchants  or  buc- 
caneers, whether  adventurers  for  gold  or  railroad  builders,  were  the  un- 
conscious instruments  of  one  of  those  mighty  inspirations  which  are 
transmitted  from  one  generation  to  another  and  which  are  the  compen- 
sating forces  of  the  world  against  the  terrors  of  jungle  and  swamp  and 
the  darkness  of  the  unknown.  They  were  the  forerunners,  the  pioneers 
of  whom  Kipling  has  sung  so  vividly: 

"He  shall  desire  loneliness,  and  his  desire  shall  bring 
Hard  on  his  heels  a  thousand  wheels,  a  people  and  a  King. 
He  shall  come  back  on  his  own  track,  and  by  his  scarce- 
cooled  camp 
There  he  shall  meet  the  roaring  street,  the  derrick  and 

the   stamp: 

For  he  must  blaze  a  nation's  ways  with  hatchet  and  with  brand, 
'Till  on  his  last-won  wilderness  an  empire's  outposts  stand." 

16 


You  will  find  this  fancy  coming  back  more  strongly  and  perhaps 
get  hold  of  the  essential  spirit  of  the  great  enterprise  which  has  so  trans- 
muted the  Isthmus,  as  you  return  to  the  ship  some  evening,  and  your 
eye  is  engaged  by  the  austere  classical  loveliness  of  the  enormous  buildings 
of  the  new  docks.  New,  and  of  a  stark  utility  unsurpassed  in  architect- 
ure, yet  beholding  their  facades  in  the  luminous  tropic  night  across 
the  vast  expanse  of  level  concrete  floors,  you  can  do  them  justice  only 
by  conceiving  them  to  be  the  stones  of  a  great  achievement,  the  visible 
temples  of  a  powerful  and  benign  civilization. 

In  the  four  hundred  years  since  the  great  navigator  himself  dropped 
anchor  inside  Grape  Cay  and  went  ashore  not  far  from  where  the  city 
of  Limon  now  stands,  men  have  ceased  to  regard  the  Caribbean  as  a 
"Sea  of  Darkness."  Yet  the  configuration  of  these  coasts  remains 
very  much  as  Columbus  saw  it  from  his  caravel.  To  him  it  was  indeed 
a  sea  of  darkness  and  doubt.  As  he  paced  his  deck  and  watched  the 
long  line  of  white  surf  break  on  the  yellow  sand  beneath  the  palms, 
and  raised  his  eyes  to  the  blue  distances  of  the  Cordilleras  beyond 
the  impenetrable  jungles  of  the  lowlands,  he  was  turning  over  in  his 
mind  the  problem  which  had  become  the  dominating  passion  of  his 
life.  These  coasts,  rich  as  they  might  be  in  gold,  were  to  him  so 
many  obstacles  holding  him  back  in  his  search  for  the  way  through. 
It  is  a  measure  of  his  courage  and  his  genius  that  he  never  lost  his 
faith  in  that  strange  country  he  called  Cathay,  or  his  conviction  that 
sooner  or  later  that  way  through  would  be  discovered.  As  it  has  been, 
though  it  may  be  doubted  if  Columbus  ever  imagined  it  would  take 
so  long! 


17 


The  present  day  voyager,  while  he  can  evoke  easily  enough  the 
picture  of  the  intrepid  old  captain  sheltering  from  the  slow,  smooth  un- 
dulations of  the  easterly  swell  under  Grape  Cay,  is  spared  the  annoyance 
of  wading  ashore  and  beating  off  bands  of  hostile  Caribs.  A  maximum 
of  modern  convenience  seems  to  have  been  attained  without  demolishing 
the  tropical  luxuriance  of  the  place,  for  the  city  is  invisible  behind  a 
grove  of  magnificent  Indian  laurels  save  where  a  few  houses  climb  the 
green  bluffs  behind  the  plain.  Indeed  it  is  not  easy  to  keep  that  same 
tropical  vegetation  where  it  belongs.  It  is  one  of  the  foremost  differ- 
ences between  the  northern  and  the  central  zones,  that  in  the  latter 
human  beings  are  engaged  in  an  active  struggle  with  the  plant  life.  There 
is  something  almost  sinister  in  the  relentless  energy  and  indomitable 
intrusion  of  the  vegetation. 

There  was  a  time  when  the  pious  settlers  of  Costa  Rica  had  other 
enemies  than  the  jungle  to  contend  with,  and  our  friends  the  buccaneers, 
engaged  upon  the  enterprise  of  reaching  the  Southern  Sea,  but  with  the 
ulterior  motive  of  raiding  the  riches  of  Peru,  appeared  in  force  at  this 
same  point  where  we  disembark,  behind  Grape  Cay.  This  was  in  1665 
when  the  art  of  piracy  had  reached  a  high  degree  of  complexity  and  per- 
fection. A  gentleman  named  Mansfelt,  who  was  so  eminent  as  an  ocean 
highwayman  that  he  called  himself  an  admiral,  left  Port  Royal  in  Jamaica 
with  a  thousand  men  in  fifteen  caravels.  The  position  of  Mansfelt  is 
to  be  gauged  by  the  fact  that  his  chief  of  staff  or  vice-admiral  was  Henry 
Morgan  himself.  A  more  complete  company  of  scoundrels  and  riff-raff 
it  would  have  been  impossible  to  conceive  even  in  Port  Royal.  The 
mere  effort  to  visualize  those  ships  with  their  dreadful  crews  of  unshorn, 
unwashed  tatterdemalions  from  all  the  stews  of  Europe  descending  upon 
a  decent  coast  evokes  a  gesture  of  disgust.  It  was  one  of  the  penalties 
of  enterprise  outstripping  the  running  of  law  that  such  a  thing  should 
have  been  possible. 


18 


UT  the  interest  for  us  in  all  this  lies  in  the  fact  that  when  the 
buccaneers  landed  where  Limon  now  stands  they  were  bound 
upon  the  capture  and  pillage  of  Cartago,  the  capital  city  of 
the  country;  and  on  setting  forth  they  followed  a  line  more  or 
less  corresponding  to  the  route  we  take  in  our  railroad  journey 
into  the  interior.  By  a  sudden  raid  at  night  they  captured  the  village 
of  Matina  which  lay  in  their  track  towards  the  Reventazon  River,  it  being 
their  plan,  as  it  is  ours,  to  ascend  the  valley  of  that  stream,  skirting  the 
shoulders  of  the  volcanoes  Turrialba  and  Irazu  and  so  arriving  at  Cartago. 

They  must  have  been  an  extraordinary  sight  as  they  came  swimming 
and  rafting  themselves  across  the  rapid  flood  of  the  Reventazon,  that 
mob  of  cutthroats  from  every  port  from  Antwerp  to  Genoa.  The  books 
tell  us  they  comprised  English,  French,  Spanish,  Portuguese,  Flemish, 
Greek  and  Levantine.  They  counted  among  their  commanders  John 
Davis,  Joseph  Broadley  and  Jean  Le  Maire.  It  was  what  an  actor 
would  call  a  star  caste.  They  came  across,  over  six  hundred  of  them, 
while  the  humble  laborers  on  the  opposite  shore  stood  in  amaze  at  such 
an  incredible  portent.  All  their  lives  they  had  heard  of  the  diabolical 
deeds  of  the  filibusters  of  the  Indies,  and  now  here  they  were,  their  cut- 
lasses in  their  teeth,  breasting  the  current,  their  gleaming  eyes  and  terri- 
fying moustachios  approaching  with  frightful  rapidity.  No  doubt  panic 
unnerved  these  poor  creatures  for  only  one,  a  hardy  Indian  from  the 
highlands,  was  able  to  understand  what  could  be  done.  As  the  buc- 
caneers raced  out  of  the  river  he  dived  in  and  swam  back  to  the  other 
side  and  ran  home  as  fast  as  he  could.  It  was  only  a  few  miles,  but  as 
the  train  climbs  the  northern  flanks  of  the  Reventazon  Valley  and  you 
look  from  the  windows  of  the  chair  car  across  the  savage  loveliness  of 
those  precipitous  tropical  gorges,  you  will  get  a  dim  notion  of  the  journey 
that  Indian  made  through  the  jungles  of  Costa  Rica. 

But  the  buccaneers  were  to  discover  that  they  had  aroused  a  body 
of  men  who  had  no  intention  of  resigning  their  property  to  any  raga- 
muffin who  might  rush  up  and  demand  it.  The  Spanish  colonists  of 
Costa  Rica  were  the  vigorous  descendants  of  the  conquistadores  who 

19 


were  tougher  and  more  determined  than  the  toughest  of  buccaneers, 
and  in  a  very  short  space  the  latter,  who  had  arrived  at  Tunialba,  were 
coming  to  the  view  that  things  were  not  going  entirely  right. 

They  had  marched  and  scrambled  and  swung  themselves  over  cliffs 
and  over  the  edges  of  ravines  as  the  tortuous  track  led  them  upward 
towards  the  mighty  cone  of  Turrialba  with  his  cap  of  white  clouds,  and 
they  were  much  cheered  by  the  information  that  the  young  ladies  of 
the  city  of  Cartago  were  extremely  good  looking  and  no  doubt  inclined 
to  have  a  romantic  interest  in  a  swaggering  buccaneer  from  over  the  blue 
Caribbean.  And  no  doubt,  also,  the  clatter  of  so  many  different  lan- 
guages in  their  ranks  added  a  certain  varied  interest  to  the  journey. 
But  instead  of  romantic  young  ladies,  bullets  began  to  arrive  from  the 
dense  jungle  that  beset  Turrialba  on  all  hands,  and  the  buccaneers,  not 
knowing  how  many  regiments  of  warlike  and  indignant  Spanish  colonists 
were  concealed  behind  these  menancing  screens  of  leaves,  suddenly 
broke  away  down  the  mountainside  and  never  stopped  until  they  reached 
Matina.  A  number  of  them  fell  into  the  river  as  they  came  down  pell- 
mell  and  it  is  gratifying  to  reflect  that  the  alligators  were  on  hand  to 
receive  them.  From  Matina  they  hurried  across  the  lowlands,  now 
covered  with  banana  plantations,  and  arriving  at  Portete,  as  they  called 
Limon  in  those  days,  got  on  board  and  sailed  out  into  the  Caribbean 
as  fast  as  possible. 

Wealth  no  doubt  is  a  relative  thing  and  the  freebooter  who  des- 
cended upon  these  smiling  hospitable  coasts  and  who  slaughtered  the 
simple  agriculturists  and  smashed  their  houses  and  temples  in  his  frantic 
anxiety  to  accumulate  gold,  quite  possibly  imagined  himself  an  extremely 
clever  and  efficient  person.  The  best  we  can  say  of  him  now  is  that  he 
was  deficient  in  vision.  Very  few  pirates  were  prominent  citizens  in 
their  own  sections,  and  their  way  of  life  did  not  give  them  the  opportunity 
to  appreciate  the  riches  latent  in  the  fertility  of  those  valleys  and  uplands 
to  whose  inhabitants  they  were  about  as  welcome  as  a  pestilence. 

But  it  is  worth  noting  that  both  to  the  old  time  buccaneers  and  to 
modern  commerce  the  problem  was  one  of  transportation.  No  one  who 
makes  the  journey  from  Puerto  Limon  to  the  capital  of  Costa  Rica, 
will  ever  forget  the  experience.  There  are  probably  but  two  other  as- 
cents which  can  be 
adequately  com- 
pared with  it — 
the  line  from  Lima 
up  the  Andes  and 
the  railway  from 
Vera  Cruz  to  Mex- 
ico City.  There 
is  a  story  about 
the  former  road 
which  comes  to 
the  mind  as  the 
train  carries  us 
briskly  over  the 
dizzy  gorges  and 
through  the  cork- 


screw  cuttings  of  the  line  to  San 
Jose.  The  constructor  was  warned 
that  the  loose  shale  was  an  impos- 
sible basis  for  a  railroad.  He  retorted 
that  rather  than  give  up  he  would 
hang  his  rails  from  balloons  while 
he  was  consolidating  the  earth 
underneath.  It  must  be  admitted 
that  at  times  the  track  of  our  railroad 
seems  to  be  suspended  in  some  such 
way  over  the  Reventazon.  There  is 
one  glimpse  to  be  held  in  memory, 
a  vista  of  many  shaded  greens  and 
blue  distances,  cloud  capped  peaks 
and  rich  plantations,  with  the  river 
a  streak  of  gleaming  silver  coming 
down  the  valley.  And  from  the  other 
side,  if  you  are  lucky  and  the  clouds 
are  not  too  heavy,  you  will  see  the 
vast  crater  of  Mount  Irazu,  with  his 
forty  mile  plume  of  smoke  and  steam 
rolling  away  across  the  central  plateau. 

The  difference  in  climate 
between  Limon  and  San  Jose  is  not 
to  be  ignored.  As  you  sit  in  the  train 
waiting  for  it  to  start,  you  will  admit 
that  the  temperature  is  undoubtedly  hot.  But  when  the  train  has 
achieved  the  five  thousand  feet  altitude  of  the  hundred  mile  journey, 
and  you  are  established  at  your  hotel  in  San  Jose,  you  become  aware 
of  the  fact  that  nobody  is  wearing  a  straw  hat;  and  as  you  go  out  in  the 
square  after  dinner  to  listen  to  the  band,  you  have  a  distinct  impression 
that  an  overcoat  would  by  no  means  be  superfluous. 

To  the  visitor  from  North  America  the  famous  cities  of  the  Latin 
republics  have  a  remote  and  modest  air.  For  obvious  reasons  the  Euro- 
pean founders  of  these  communities  chose  the  more  or  less  inaccessible 
highlands  of  the  interior,  for  in  the  days  before  the  connection  between 
mosquitoes  and  malaria  was  understood,  the  tierras  calientes,  the  hot 
lands  of  the  coast,  were  impossible.  Even  the  natives  could  not  be  in- 
duced to  go  down  there.  And  San  Jose,  reposing  upon  a  slight  eminence 
in  the  center  of  a  lofty  shallow  plateau  like  a  saucer,  so  that  from  every 
street  you  can  see  the  plain  sloping  away,  with  the  rim  rising  in  the  dis- 
tance, has  no  tall  buildings  like  American  cities.  The  available  area 
renders  them  unnecessary.  The  long  orderly  lines  of  white  houses  with 
their  roofs  of  dark  red  Spanish  tiles  often  surmounted  by  a  couple  of 
dignified  looking  cormorants  give  one  a  very  vivid  impression  of  a  foreign 
yet  comprehensive 'civilization.  But  it  is  in  the  evening  in  the  Plaza, 
the  heart  of  the  town,  when  the  magnificently  attired  military  band 
comes  forth  to  demonstrate  the  Latin-American's  virtuosity  as  a  musi- 
cian, and  the  walks  beneath  the  rich  foliage  of  the  little  park  are  alive 
with  crowds  of  young  people  moving  round  in  orderly  gaiety,  that  the 

21 


spirit  of  the  place  is  to  be  caught  in  all  its  charm.  The  visitor  will  reflect 
with  interest  that  when  those  old  buccaneers  were  informed  that  the 
ladies  of  Costa  Rica  were  pretty,  there  was  a  good  deal  of  truth  in  the 
report,  if  one  is  to  judge  by  their  descendants.  Impression  is  gained 
from  the  evening  promenade  that  the  density  of  beauty  to  the  acre  must 
be  very  high  in  San  Jose  and  the  inhabitants  will  not  deny  that  their 
women  are  generously  endowed  with  a  more  than  ordinary  portion  of 
the  graces  of  body  and  mind. 

It  would  be  foolish  to  conclude  a  visit  to  so  interesting  a  section  of 
Central  America  without  seeing  the  vestiges  of  the  aboriginals  in  the 
National  Museum.  The  Indians  of  these  parts  invariably  buried  a 
quantity  of  golden  ornaments  with  the  late  owners,  and  these,  together 
with  their  pottery,  show  a  high  degree  of  craftsmanship. 

And  so,  as  the  sun  is  setting  behind  the  Cordilleras  we  gain  the  low- 
lands once  more  and  come  to  a  halt  at  the  head  of  the  harbor.  There 
is  another  experience  in  store  for  the  initiated  which  may  help  to  crystalize 
the  memories  of  an  alien  land.  It  takes  but  a  moment  to  walk  through 
the  little  park  close  by,  where  the  Indian  laurels  make  a  dark  tunnel  and 
the  lime-washed  boles  of  the  royal  palms  rise  like  huge  columns,  until 
we  arrive  at  a  long  low  sea-wall  wet  with  the  spray  of  the  waves  that  are 
forever  rolling  in  and  bursting  with  a  sound  of  muffled  thunder.  It  is 
here,  beneath  the  rustle  of  the  palms  in  the  landward  breeze  and  the  boom 
of  the  surf,  that  we  can  savour  in  all  its  intensity  that  alluring  and  elusive 
emotion  which  the  tropics  evoke  in  the  hearts  of  those  who  hail  from 
northern  climes.  We  watch  the  lights  coming  out  clear  in  the  luminous 
dusk  of  evening,  and  the  smooth  swell  as  it  lifts  some  lonely  fisher  in  his 
tiny  canoe;  and  in  the  sob  and  suck  of  the  tide  rip  through  the  rocks 
below  we  can  hear: 

"The  long  backed  breakers  croon 
Their  endless  ocean  legends  to  the  lazy,  locked  lagoon." 

And  what  are  those  tales  we  hear  as  the  crabs  slip  away  from  us 
and  vanish  down  the  rough  sea  wall?  Tales  of  long  gone  evil  and  ill- 
starred  ambition.  Tales  of  heroic  struggles  against  the  darkness  of  the 
forests.  Tales,  too,  of  great  things  done  in  our  time,  of  indomitable 
energy  matched  against  the  terrors  of  the  wilderness,  of  craft  and  shrewd 
resource.  Of  man's  faith  in  man  and  in  his  destiny,  of  failure  and  defeat, 
of  ultimate  achievement.  So  they  come  to  us,  those  voices  of  the  tropic 
sea,  ere  we  start  on  the  quick  run  home  through  the  Gates  of  the  Carib- 
bean to  take  up  once  more  our  own  problems,  in  the  crisper  northern  air. 


fV. 


., 

^b^j;^'^:-—  7'^ ~ 


HE  routes  of  the  steamships  of  the  Great  White  Fleet  are  by 
no  means  confined  to  that  which  takes  us  southward  via 
Havana,  Jamaica,  Panama  and  Costa  Rica.  Equally  en- 
joyable and  fascinating  are  the  cruises  to  Colombia  and 
Guatemala. 

They  are  operated  all  the  year  round,  the  Colombian  ships  sailing 
from  New  York  every  week,  and  the  Guatemalan  ships  sailing  fortnightly. 
And  the  charm  of  all  these  cruises  lies  in  their  dissimilarity.  You  may 
take  a  different  Great  White  Fleet  Cruise  every  year  for  your  vacation 
and  come  home  each  time  with  distinctly  new  impressions  and  inspirations. 

As  in  the  case  of  the  Costa  Rican  Cruise  many  entertaining  shore 
excursions  are  included  without  charge  in  the  Colombian  Cruise  during 
the  winter  season. 

These  steamers  proceed  from  New  York  direct  to  Kingston,  Jamaica, 
where  motor  cars  are  provided  for  the  trip  to  the  lovely  Castleton  Gar- 
dens. From  Kingston  the  course  is  southwest  across  the  Caribbean  to 
Colon  and  from  there  passengers  are  conveyed  by  train  across  the  Isthmus 
to  Panama  City.  On  our  return  to  Colon,  the  ship  sails  eastward  through 
the  Gulf  of  Darien  to  the  ancient  and  beautiful  city  of  Cartagena,  the 
"Queen  of  the  Oceans,"  as  the  poet  Heredia  calls  her  in  one  of  his  poems. 

The  next  port  of  call  is  Puerto  Colombia,  seaport  of  Barranquilla, 
one  of  the  most  important  commercial  centers  of  this  region.  From  here 
the  river  steamers  and  hydroplanes  leave  for  Bogota,  Colombia's  capital 
nestled  in  the  mountains  of  the  interior. 

Less  than  sixty  miles  east  of  Puerto  Colombia  is  Santa  Marta, 
shielded  behind  scarred  hummocks  of  volcanic  rock  from  the  easterly 
breeze  and  backed  by  the  imposing  ranges  of  the  eastern  Andes.  Here 
we  motor  to  San  Pedro  the  home  of  the  liberator,  Bolivar,  and  well  called 
"  th  e  Mount  Vernon  of  South  America . ' '  We  also  visit  Rio  Frio  a  United 
Fruit  Company  plantation  where  an  opportunity  is  given  to  see  the 
various  processes  of  banana  culture. 

23 


Guatemalan  Cruise  takes  us  from  New  York  to  Santiago, 
Cuba,  thence  to  Kingston,  Jamaica  and  from  there  to  Belize 
in  British  Honduras  and  to  Puerto  Barrios,  the  terminal 
of  the  Guatemalan  Railroad  System. 

Sixty  miles  out  of  Puerto  Barrios  is  Quirigua  where  are 
the  most  important  relics  of  the  lost  civilization  of  the  Maya  Indians. 
It  is  a  region  of  richly  fascinating  antiquity. 

Twelve  hours  distant  by  rail  from  Puerto  Barrios  is  Guatemala  City, 
one  of  the  most  interesting  of  the  Latin-American  capitals  and  well 
worthy  of  a  visit  during  the  steamer's  lay-over. 

Additional  Great  White  Fleet  Cruise  service  is  maintained  from 
New  Orleans,  ships  sailing  twice  each  week  for  sixteen  and  seventeen 
day  cruises.  The  ports  of  call  are  Havana,  Cuba ;  Cristobal,  Panama 
Canal  Zone ;  Bocas  del  Toro,  Panama ;  Tela,  Honduras,  and  Port  Limon, 
Costa  Rica. 

Whichever  Great  White  Fleet  Cruise  you  decide  upon — Costa  Rican, 
Colombian,  Guatemalan  or  one  of  those  from  New  Orleans — you  will 
experience  an  equal  measure  of  pleasure  and  gratification.  No  one  of  the 
Central  American  countries  and  the  West  Indian  Islands  is  more  inter- 
esting than  another. 

The  steamships  are  all  especially  designed  for  cruising  in  the 
Caribbean  Sea  and  while  some  are  a  little  larger  than  others,  the  same 
high  standard  of  service  is  aimed  at  for  all.  They  are  the  most  expens- 
ively constructed  vessels  of  their  kind  in  the  world.  All  cruise  state- 
rooms are  outside  and  are  first  class  only.  Not  how  large,  but  how  fine, 
best  expresses  the  thought  dominating  the  construction  of  the  ships  of 
the  Great  White  Fleet ;  a  steamship  service  designed  to  meet  the  most 
exacting  requirements  of  the  traveler. 


24 


Copyrighted  1922,  by  United  Fruit  Company 


PHINTBD  Ut  THE  TT.  B.  A. 


